


Inappropriate Touching

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas, Touched by an Angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 04:37:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When Meghada O'Donnell, Meghada ru Dragan of the Clan O'Donnell, finds the three in her garden, claiming to be 'angels', of all things(!), she is more annoyed than delighted.  After all, she had things to get done, and frankly, after Sister Therese, she'd had enough of visitors from another pantheon trying to mind her business.
Kudos: 1





	Inappropriate Touching

**Author's Note:**

> For readers of my Garrison's Gorillas stories, no explanations are needed, though a visual picture of Della Reese as Tess, Roma Downey as Monica and a white-suited John Dye as Andrew, Angel of Death, might enhance your pleasure. For readers of fandom Touched by an Angel who are NOT familiar with my GG fandom stories, no explanation would be sufficient to do all the backfill. Oh, picturing Meghada as a redhaired Celtic Dragon (in so many ways!) whose spiritual allegiance is to the Sweet Mother Erdu and no other - that might help just a little.
> 
> Touched by an Angel is a fandom I have never written for, and probably never will, though nothing is certain, of course. Why my muse decided to deliver this merging, I have no idea.

She'd found them in her garden when she went out to hang sheets on the line. 

Most of the laundry went to Mrs. Wilson, of course, but sometimes - well, as understanding as the old washerwoman was, and as discreet, still, sometimes the sheets told a tale that she'd prefer not to share. 

In this case, it was the smears of wild honey and melted butter and ground-in biscuit crumbs, in addition to other evidence of a lovely warm night shared by the three of them. 

While Mrs. Wilson would be understanding of the latter, she DID have firm opinions about the eating of hot buttery, honey-drenched biscuits and the like while still entwined in the bed linens. 

Well, Meghada wasn't all that much for the practice either; still, Goniff took the notion he needed a snack to rebuild his energy, Craig had gotten the munchies too, and there WERE those biscuits in the warmer oven and honey pot and butter dish still on the counter. 

And it just seemed too much effort to get dressed and go to the table, when they all three knew they'd just be back in that bed as soon as the snack was finished. And besides, Goniff had had a few suggestions for that butter and honey that made Craig laugh and blush, and so there Meghada was, a basket of freshly-laundered sheets in her hands when she stepped out the kitchen door.

The introduction offered seemed similar to that story she'd heard so often, the one with the tag line of 'we're from the government, and we're here to help you.' Only this was more in the line of 'we're angels, and we've been sent to touch your life, to comfort and guide you.' 

It was the older woman who'd delivered that line, with a motherly smile. The younger woman had nodded earnestly and given her own sweet smile. The man? Oh, he smiled too, but Meghada wouldn't have trusted THAT smile one solitary inch, the smile OR him. She'd had more than a little experience with lovely men with smiles like that. 

His adding a warm "I'm Andrew, and I'm here to guide you home to Heaven's gates," made the hair on the back of her neck ruffle, and not in a good way.

{"The day I let that one guide me anywhere, you might as well declare my common sense gone for sure! There's a procurer for the specialty brothels up in London that uses a very similar line on the sweet innocents fresh come from the country. Come to think, Handsome Jack has that same smile as well!"} 

"Are you sure you have the right address? I mean, I can tell you are from the States. Driving on the wrong side of the road, running down those who are going about their honest business; mistaking the road signs, the residence signs, popping in uninvited and unawares - that is probably rather common with your sort," she offered politely. Well, alright, at least her tone was polite - maybe, sort of.

"Oh, I'm not being judgemental, mind you. I DO know how confusing it can be here, so easy to mistake the correct side of the road, thinking it's every one ELSE who's going the wrong way. So easy to mistake a village for a town for a compilation of small communities. So easy to mistake a sign that says 'O'Donnell Cottage' for another that says 'J Murgatroyd and Family'. All sorts of things; accidents DO happen."

That shit-eating grin she was giving them really was spectacular; she knew, because she'd lifted it from Casino, who rivaled even Goniff in the art of grins that could really piss someone off.

The older Black woman seemed to be in charge. She was the motherly-type on the surface, but Meghada got the impression she could hand out a lecture that would make your toes ache, along with a wallop with the back of her hand if she felt it needful. 

{"But she does have a wonderful speaking voice. I'd love to hear her sing. I bet she'd be spectacular!"}

"And angels, you say. Just which pantheon do you represent? Not that I'm being all judgie here - there is no One True Way. But still, it might be helpful if I knew who or what I'm avoiding dealing with, you know."

Now Tess, as she'd introduced herself (the younger woman being Monica, and Andrew had already introduced himself), explained and Meghada just barely refrained from rolling her eyes in frustration. She'd just gotten rid of Sister Therese and her Mother Superior who'd shown up unexpected and uninvited and decidedly unwelcome. Well, alright, that had been a couple of months ago, but still!! 

"Very well, you're angels of the One True God. The Christian god, and I AM glad you added that, since that appellation has more than a few claimants, you know. Ah, well. A person has a right to call themselves whatever they wish, I suppose. And you say you have come to 'touch' my life. I still think you have the wrong address, but I suppose it won't do any harm to listen. Have a seat."

Oh, she'd try to be polite, just as she did with Druids and witches, but frankly, she'd rather not have the experience in the first place, what with all she needed to get done. {"Hang the sheets, pick what's ready from the garden, shell those nuts, then start lunch. I DO hope they don't take too long getting to the point!"}

Still, she'd start off polite, as much as she was able, for as long as her patience held out. After all, the old family saying was, "be polite to the Druids and the witches, right up to the time when it becomes necessary to kill them. Which happens more often than not, most tiresomely so. Of course, the Druids tend not to stay dead for as long as you might think, which is most annoying, of course." 

There had been no mention of Christian angels in there, of course, but perhaps that was because of lack of prior contact. 

No, Meghada had to admit, that probably wasn't it. {"More likely not wanting to offend the Sweet Mother by taking on, or out, the minions of one of her old friends, that Lord of theirs. Still, I see no reason to let them hector me, so they just better not start!"}

The three started for the back door, only to halt at the quick but decidedly firm, "NOT inside! That's for friends and family, not uninvited drop-ins. You'll wait here, in the garden. I'll bring out refreshments. Coffee? Tea? Bourbon? There might be a little whiskey left, but with the boys having their cards game here last night, I'll not swear to that."

Tess offered a patient, "tea would be fine."

Monica's eyes had lit up on the word coffee, and she eagerly proclaimed her delight at the offering. Meghada noted the soft Irish accent, wondered {"how did a nice Irish girl end up with a job like this??! Surely you'd be better off with our Sweet Mother."}. Still, she had no interest in choosing other people's destiny for them, at least not in matters spiritual; it was really none of her business.

Andrew, the one Meghada thought of as 'Mr. Thinks He's Gorgeous and Expects You To As Well', just gave a pitying smile and declined any need for liquid sustenance. 

Meghad turned to head back inside, letting that eye-roll finally happen. Well, it was starting to HURT, holding it back that way!

Now, over that rather full garden table (what with the tea, and coffee, and cream pitcher and sugar bowl, and bottle of bourbon, and an extra glass AND cup just in case Mr. Gorgeous changed his mind), she listened to their explanations. And it was probably just as well she'd gotten that eye-roll over and done, loosened up the muscles involved, because it was obvious that wouldn't be the ONLY time she felt the need.

"So, very well. I'm going to take a tumble off the roof. Not that I have much need for crawling around on the roof right at the moment, though I've done so in the past when it was necessary. Alright. As for killing myself doing so, that seems less than likely. Taken a goodly number of tumbles, and falling off a low roof doesn't even count in the measure. Now, having that mountain fall on me, that was more likely . . .

"But as for following YOU, Mr. Gorgeous, it will be an icy day in your hell when I do that! My mum didn't raise any fools for daughters, and she warned me of your sort early on."

She took a sip of her bourbon, watching through her long eyelashes the expression on his face, well, all their faces, at that, refraining from another of those shit-eating grins while listening to their hurried explanations, their protests of Andrew's good intentions.

"Very well, even if I were to believe all that, why would I want to do anything of the sort anyway? Just to get a good look at those so-called 'pearly gates' that are so talked about among your sort? No, no. I'm fearful it would only cause me to feel I needed to spruce up mine own plain black wrought iron gate. Well, you DO know Diderot's story of the red velvet dressing gown, I'm quite sure. I replace that gate with one more like yours, next thing you know, I'll be wanting to put in marble floors and stained glass in all the windows of the cottage!"

"No, IF I go roaming the rooftops and break my neck, I'm sure my Sweet Mother Erdu will handle the matter nicely without bringing in Outlanders, even angelic ones. 

There was the roar of a jeep outside that gate now, and the small group of men came through the gate bickering among themselves, and not in the least interested in the faintly-visible visitors who'd pulled back into the shadows.

"Yeah, ya damned fool Limey! Heroic man of the hour, my ass! Ya fell off the damned roof, if you don't remember!"

"Did not! At least, not on purpose! Was keeping Mrs. Wilson from tumbling off! Alright, didn't manage as well as I thought, but at least I slowed 'er down enough for you to catch 'er so she didn't get 'urt, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but not in time for Chief to catch you before you screwed up your knee again," came the swift retort.

"Maybe, but on the way down I did snatch that silky thing that blew up there and got caught on the drain pipe. Don't care 'ow much the Reverend's sister prized that bit of fancy, there was no call for Mrs. Wilson to go climbing around on the roof to get it back. Most likely would 'ave blown back down in a day or two. Told 'er so, too, didn't I, and she promised not to again. Don't want 'er falling and 'urting 'erself; she's not as young as she was, you know."

Casino snorted. "Well, the way yer hobbling, neither are you!"

Yes, Goniff was once again favoring that bad knee, along with clasping his ribs. No, he hadn't come away unscathed, but the outcome, Mrs. Wilson, the local washerwoman, coming away from that near-tumble off the roof unharmed, had been enough to make him feel quite pleased with himself.

Tess gave a quick look at the other two, them looking equally startled. They moved forward so the others could see them now. Andrew cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Wilson? Not Lucy Wilson, by some odd chance?"

Chief frowned, "we only know her as Mrs. Wilson." That wasn't exactly true, but the old washerwoman had gone by many names in her long and varied life, as they themselves had, and no one was about to be handing out information to strangers. Enemies came in all shapes and sizes, and from their experience, some had very long memories.

Monica made a stab at it, "and she's the local washerwoman?"

Now the looks were mixed. Well, Casino's was mixed - admiration for the young woman's looks, suspicion of her motives. He was growing up, at least somewhat, no longer letting the first override the second, which hadn't always been the case. It hadn't been an easy journey, but he'd made some progress.

Meghada sighed, feeling the start of a headache coming on. 

"Chief, you and Casino get Goniff settled inside, will you? I'll be in shortly to tend that knee. Lunch will be a little late, it seems; there's a tin of scones in the pantry to tide you over for a bit, and the coffee's fresh."

As they disappeared through the kitchen door, she turned back to the three visitors, them now looking rather sheepish.

"So, it was Mrs. Wilson you were sent to 'comfort and guide home'. Well, it looks like you've had a long trip for no reason. Seems my laddie and his brothers have done the job, AND without the necessity for our losing a dear friend in the bargain. Seems if you're to go around 'touching', you might do so to a better end. If not, you might consider keeping your hands to yourself, at least til you're sure your touching is welcome. Otherwise, there's some who might consider it outright rude, you know.

"Now, I've things to get done. Tend Goniff's knee and ribs, hang the wash, pick the garden, get lunch started before Craig gets back and thinks me a total slug-a-bed. I'm well behind on my list for taking time to chat with you three. Close the gate on your way out, if you don't mind."

She turned and went in, shaking her head, leaving them standing there gaping. Well, the two younger ones, anyway. Tess was grinning, then she laughed, a rich and hearty laugh.

"Monica, go finish hanging that wash, will you? Andrew, you come help me pick the garden," she instructed briskly.

That got her a pair of equally indignant looks, to which she replied with a stern look of her own.

"Well, you heard her. We've put her behind in her morning's work, all because of our getting the wrong address, thinking her the washerwoman just because she was carrying a laundry basket. And since her friends already took care of our assignment, there's no sense in having it be a totally wasted trip."

In the cottage, fussing over Goniff's knee, checking to be sure the ribs were bruised, not broken, Meghada heard a truly wonderous voice from outside and smiled with pleasure at the song, the singing.

'Old crow watching from a tree,  
He's got his hungry eye on me.  
In my garden, I'm as free  
As that feathered thief up there.' *

And when Meghada came out later to be sure that gate was indeed closed and locked, the wash was hanging tidily on the line, and the baskets of fresh things from the garden sitting beside the kitchen door.

"Well, as uninvited visitors go," she admitted aloud, "they were more polite than SOME I've had. At least they were willing to lend a hand with the chores," and she picked up the first basket and took it inside. She still had those nuts to shell, and there was still lunch to be made.

**Author's Note:**

> *from "Inch By Inch, Row By Row", which I first heard sung by Arlo Guthrie and Pete Seeger. But I am sure Della Reese would have done an absolutely magnificent job of it!


End file.
